


A Quest of Power and Passion

by whilend_poet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Angst, Destiel December 2020 (Supernatural), Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Fantasy, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Princes & Princesses, Quests, Rebels, Royalty, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:35:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28355550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whilend_poet/pseuds/whilend_poet
Summary: Prince Castiel Novak is the perfect example of what a prince should be, with his eyes set on the throne. To obtain the favor of his father, King Chuck, he embarks on a quest to take known conspirator, Dean Winchester, to find rebel camps. Along the way, Dean shows Castiel the true nature of the kingdom, as well as letting him into his heart. Will Castiel be able to maintain his perfect facade? Or will he fall for the ways of his rebellious captive?
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 13
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

Prince Castiel Novak was the epitome of a perfectionist. He refined every move he made so that he never failed. So he could be the exemplary, quintessential picture of what a prince should be. In studying for his endless classes, in dancing with princesses and maidens at the grand, resplendent balls thrown at the palace, or even in his tactics in his swordsmanship lessons, he strived to be the best. This is what he thought about as he stood in the early morning sun, a warm orange tint outlining his body. He thought about what the perfect next strike would be against his fencing trainer, Balthazar, would be. He slashed his sword through the air, striking a blow against Balthazar's own weapon, a fervent bead of sweat forming at his brow. They passed many thrashes, back and forth, on defense and the offense. Both of them were panting, and both wanted to win this faux battle of theirs. They continued like this for many moments before Castiel, swift with his weapon, won the upper hand by knocking Balthazar's sword from his grasp. 

"I yield!" Balthazar said with hands up in joking defense.

"You better!" Castiel teased.

They both collapsed onto the grass of the open meadow they normally trained in, breathless. Castiel brushed his black locks away from his blue eyes and rested his hand on his sweaty forehead. Their loud breaths were the only thing making noise before Balthazar spoke up, 

"You're really coming along, Prince Castiel." He said, squinting one of his eyes to avoid the rising sun.

"Hey, what did I say about calling me 'prince'? Just call me Cas. Or I won't go so easy on you next time." Castiel joked.

"Okay, okay, Cas,'" Balthazar conceited, "I'm serious, though: you're really coming along. You're going to have to start training me here soon."

"Yeah, yeah," Castiel said coyly.

"I think out of all your brothers, you've trained the fastest. When your brothers were nineteen, they were only half as far along as you are. I'm placing my bets now: you'll be the greatest soldier of all the Novak princes, I'll put my wages on that."

Castiel blushed, "Thank you, Balthazar." He said in honest, not used to receiving such high compliments. He only wished that his father, King Chuck, saw him as capable as Balthazar did, "Well, uh, I should probably get back. I have to get ready for the community hearing this afternoon."

"Of course. Good day, Cas." Balthazar said, and the two men headed their separate ways.

On the way back to the palace, Castiel trudged through the vast plains of tall grasses dusted with wildflowers and thought of the busy day ahead. It was the first Sunday of August. On the first Sunday of each month, the King would hold what he liked to call 'community hearings,' where village folk from all across the kingdom would come lay their complaints, reports, misdemeanors, and civil trials that couldn't be resolved in smaller court hearings, at the King's feet. Of course, Castiel loved hearing about the politics of it all and hearing from the folk of the land, but after hearing the eleventh story about petty thievery that could be solved with simple communication in the first place, it starts to drag a bit. 

By the time Castiel was done thinking about the impending hearing, he was back in his quarters, bathed and getting dressed. He slipped into blue trousers, a white frilled tunic that bloomed at the sleeves and collar, and a matching blue overcoat lined with intricate gold needlework details. Giving himself one last look in the mirror, he tousled his inky hair and headed for the door.

~

He walked through the long marble halls, immaculately decorated with priceless pieces of art. Many mornings he would pick a painting in the house, study it, find its origins, research it, and admire it until he got hungry enough for breakfast. He had convinced his history tutor that he could supplement his droning lessons with his own research on that palaces' paintings. And his tutor had remarkably agreed. This was one of Castiel's favorite things to do. He longed to do it today, but alas, it was still the first Sunday of the month. In addition to community hearings, first Sunday's of the month were also reserved for family breakfasts. For as long as he could remember, the royal family had done this. King Chuck had ordered him and his sons to eat together before the community hearings as some sort of half-baked attempt at 'family bonding.' 

His father probably thought it was a good idea; that he might teach his four sons a lesson or two on the goings-on of the kingdom before heading into such a large political meeting, but that never happened. They often turned into bickering battles or full-on brawls on the floor. Castiel gulped out of nervousness at the thought. He only hoped that today might not end with plates being thrown across the table.

~

Once he finally made it to the grand dining room, he found his second oldest brother Michael already there. He was wearing a similar outfit to himself, but instead of his colbalt blue, his brother's was a deep goldish-yellow. Michael didn't sit at the table yet, though. Instead, he sat on a large window seal, reading a book. Castiel strode over to greet him. 

"Good morning, Michael." He said.

Not realizing Castiel had entered, Michael jumped at the greeting and slammed his book shut, "Oh Castiel! I didn't even see you come in."

Castiel chuckled, "I didn't mean to startle you, brother, my apologies. Uh...What are you reading?"

"Oh," Michael said coolly, "It's a book father recommended about parliament…" 

"Oh, that's…nice," Castiel answered with a stiff chuckle, trying to stifle his jealously. He wished that their father would entrust him with such valuable information.

Castiel couldn't help but show his jealousy, though; it consumed him. He already knew that Michael was his father's favorite son; that much was evident by how the King doted on him. But it hurt when he so blatantly showed his favor.

The favor of the King was everything in the Kingdom of Nevaeh. Of course, courtesans and village folk wanted the King's endorsement for some form of notoriety or for wealth or nobility bestowment. But for the heirs of the line of Novak, the King's favor determined your role in history. 

In Nevaeh, the next ruler was chosen by the King from his children. Meaning: it didn't matter the birth order of his offspring, the future of the kingdom rely solely on his choice of the litter. Of course, his other children would turn out to be great generals and renowned socialites, but to be the King, to rule, was to have power. The power of change. The ability to mold a kingdom into a prosperous land and make lives better for others. Castiel dreamed of someday possessing such responsibility. But he had almost lost all hope that that day would come at all. 

His father had made it painfully obvious who his first choice would be: Prince Michael, second born. Great soldier, beloved aristocrat, and even better son. It's like he was everything Castiel wanted to be, but…better. It was hard for anyone to measure up beside him.

That didn't stop Castiel from trying to be the best son he could possibly be, though. He wanted to be King, so he tried to impress his father every chance he got. Since he was a child, he made sure to never make a wrong move, always agree, and always keep his opinions to himself. The pristine example of what a child should be; obedient, loyal, servant to the King's vision for Nevaeh. Sometimes he felt like that was all he was and nothing else. Like he didn't even really know who he was anymore. He walked on eggshells. He always arrived at every meeting immaculately dressed and impeccably prepared. He was always poised and respectful and a wonderful host to visiting kingdoms and parliament members—a perfect prince; an ideal son. But even then, he wasn't enough.

Michael cleared his throat, trying to ease the awkwardness between them, "It's quite boring actually," he chuckled. 

Castiel returned the most reassuring smile he could muster, "I bet," He knew his brother didn't choose to be the favorite, and he couldn't hold it over him. Still, his jealousy raged on.

Another awkward moment passed between the two. Castiel opened his mouth to ease the tension this time, but as if on cue, his third oldest brother Gabriel barged in at that very moment. He looked liked he just rolled out of bed. He wore a simple cream tunic tucked into brown pants; his hair was standing on end as he rubbed his eyes in grogginess.

"Father's not going to appreciate you coming to family breakfast half-dressed, Gabe." Michael scoffed at his younger brother.

"Please, I will be the least of his troubles." Gabriel laughed, pointing back towards the large doorway, where Lucifer, Castiel's oldest brother, stood in riding gear, caked in mud.

"Lucifer!" Michael scorned.

"Nice to see you too, little brother." He said, entering, tracking sticky mud on the polished marble. Castiel saw a maid lingering in the doorway, watching Lucifer leave a trail of destruction he had no doubt she'd be in charge of cleaning. Lucifer paid no mind to her.

"I thought I'd go for a ride in the forest this morning; my horse thought otherwise." He said nonchalantly.

"You always were a shit rider, Luci," Gabriel giggled, which made Lucifer flick a dollop of mud at him.

"Are you hurt?" Castiel asked.

"I'm fine. I thought about bathing, but I thought this might make breakfast a bit more interesting." He said with a sly smile.

"Lucifer, please for God's sake, go clean yourself before father—" Michael started but was abruptly cut off by a butler who cleared his throat before announcing, 

"His Royal Majesty, King Chuck Novak of Neveah,"

The King entered, in bright billowing red robes. He stopped and waited for his sons to bow. They complied by placing a hand over their hearts and dipping their heads, all except for Lucifer, who decided to go for a dramatic curtsey, dragging his leg into a low bow, which smeared more mud around in the process. Chuck seeing him, froze before narrowing his eyes and clenching his fists.

"Lucifer, what is the meaning of this?" King Chuck said in his billowing voice.

"Sorry pops, little riding accident this morning, but don't you worry-I'd never miss our little breakfasts."

Chuck looked positively repulsed. He strode over to the table, though, already tiring of his eldest son's quick tongue. He sat at the table's head, and his sons followed him, sitting at their usual spots, which has Lucifer and Gabriel farthest from him, and Michael and Castiel at his right and left sides. Lucifer paid no mind to the priceless antique chair he was ruining as he sat down with his muddy body.

"From now on, I expect everyone to come to meals in suitable attire. That includes you as well, Gabriel." Chuck said. Gabriel gulped. It wasn't that Gabriel wanted to spite his father like Lucifer did; he really just didn't care all that much about the royal procedure.

~

The five ate breakfast in silence for the most part. The only sounds were the subtle clinking of cutlery to fine china and Gabriel's loud chewing.

"Michael, how is the book I recommended? Learning anything of value?" Chuck asked, breaking the silence while gesturing to the large leather-bound book Michael had laid beside his plate.

"Fascinating father, truly priceless information in here," Michael said enthusiastically. Castiel guessed he only told him it was boring to make him feel better.

"Kiss-ass," Lucifer coughed under his breath.

Chuck straightened his spine, "I'll invite you not to murmur," he boomed, "If you have something you'd like to say, please do say it with your full chest, Lucifer."

"Oh, my apologies, father, I only wanted to mention how big a groveling suck up my younger brother Michael is, that's all," Lucifer said with a toothy smile.

"Yeah, well, disappointment was already taken," Michael spat back quickly, fed up with Lucifer's antics.

Gabriel fell into fits of laughter, "Oh Luci, he got you there!"

Lucifer scowled, "Well, how could I be dear daddy's favorite when I'm not a sniveling sycophant all the damn time? "

"Enough," Chuck scorned, exasperated, "I'll remind you to mind your manners when in the presence of a King."

Lucifer's fuse was short today. He woke up with chaos in mind, Castiel thought to himself, as Lucifer's face twisted into a snarl before spitting, "A King who's also our father…or would you prefer for us not to call you that? It's always about duty. How about you just treat us as sons, like equals for once in our damn lives? But no, I guess we're not really sons to you, are we, your majesty? We're pawns."

Chuck rose from his seat, "Watch your tongue, boy. Or I'll have it removed." 

Lucifer stood too and walked confidently to his father's side, "I'd love to see you try. I am done groveling. I am done trying to make you like what you so clearly hate. I'm sorry I won't obey your every whim, dear King, your first-born son, is a disappointment to you, I'm sure." He said sharply. 

Castiel knew that Michael being the favorite hurt Lucifer. Lucifer thought him being the oldest, being his first-born son, would be enough to attain Chuck's favor, but it wasn't. And that turned Lucifer bitter.

Chuck quickly and harshly raised a hand in the air and swung it across Lucifer's face. The sound of the smack reverberated across the tall walls and high ceiling and made Castiel jump. Lucifer staggered and grabbed his still muddy face.

"You'd be right in that assumption, boy. You are an utter disgrace." Chuck spat.

Lucifer raised his head to meet his father's eyes, a pained look across his face, which made Castiel believe that the words Chuck had spoken hurt worse than the smack he'd dealt, which was already whelping Lucifer's face.

"Please, Excuse me, your Royal Majesty," Lucifer bowed with venom in his voice. He stood with one last glance at his father, then his brothers, before storming out of the room.

Chuck straightened his robes before returning to his chair at the table.

~

The rest of the breakfast went mostly uneventful besides the heavy awkwardness of the fight lingering in the air. 

"Castiel," Chuck began, "How are your lessons in swordsmanship coming along?"

Castiel's head shot up; it was rare that Chuck asked him direct questions.

"They're going well father, I'm at the top of my training brigade, and Balthazar said I'm training quite swiftly," Castiel said a bit too eagerly.

"Good son," Chuck answered, pleased. He stood from the table once more, saying, "I'll see you all at the community hearing this afternoon. Please tell Lucifer to come, not looking like he rolled around in the stables." The three remaining brothers nodded and bowed as the King walked out of the room.

~

Later, in the throne room, Castiel walked up to the platform where five immaculately carved, gilded thrones sat. They all varied in size; His father's the largest. It sat at the platform's center. To the far right, the second-largest, Lucifer's, besides his: Michael's the third largest. Then on the left, closest to the King: Gabriel's. Lastly: Castiel's. The smallest throne, sitting farthest left. 

Though he was nearly twenty, the small throne made Castiel feel like a child when looking at the larger thrones beside him. He hated being the youngest. He sat anyway.

He and Michael were first to arrive, of course. Gabriel found his way there sometime after, now more adequately dressed in a deep orange overcoat. And Lucifer, almost late to the hearing, strode in wearing a silvery coat. After the four sons were sat at their thrones, the audience of courtesans and village folk filled the room, occupying the chairs on either side of a long stretch of velvet carpet, where soon King Chuck would enter.

A few minutes of the audience's buzzing anticipation and hushed whispers later, and the master of ceremonies announced the King's arrival.

"All rise for his Royal Majesty, King Chuck Novak of Neveah!" He proclaimed.

Chuck entered, head held arrogantly high. All but Lucifer stood to bow. Chuck paid him no mind as he sat on his throne, robes cascading around him.

"Let the hearing commence!" The King declared.

~

The hearing droned on for most of the afternoon. Complaint after complaint rolled in. Whether it be about a law or a dispute between neighbors, Chuck would decide solutions and punishments given the situation. All the townspeople would take the sentence they were dealt, even if they didn't like the outcome, with a humble bow, before being escorted out of the throne room. As was proper when interacting with a King.

"Our final hearing of the day will be the trial of known conspirator and monarchy rebel, Dean Winchester!" The master of ceremonies boomed.

The whole room seemed to collectively hold their breaths; this was the most exciting case to arise today.

Two guards escorted a tall gentleman before the five thrones. He wore black leather from head-to-toe, his laced shirt coming apart at the top to reveal some of his chest. He was tanned and freckled from being out in the sun too long, and from the little exposed skin he did have, one could see patterns of scars that made him look like he was healing from a knife fight. Or several. Castiel shifted in his chair and sucked his teeth. Something about the man didn't sit right. He looked…dangerous. The man glared towards the platform with feverish anger. Dirty blonde hair split in the middle and curled to each side of his face, winding around his sharp cheekbones. It partially obstructing his eyes, but even then, Castiel could tell they were a bright green, so bright they reveled the gleam of the emeralds in his father's crown.

The guards paused from dragging the man so he could bow at the King and his sons. However, instead of bowing, he smirked before spitting on the velvet walkway.

'Definitely dangerous,' Castiel thought. 

Chuck's face twisted, "You dare disrespect your king, boy?"

"You're not my king," Dean stated plainly, "you're just one sick son of a bitch."

This angered Chuck further. He looked pointedly at the guards, who promptly pushed the rebel to his knees harshly. But his smug smile stayed, perfectly intact.

"Someone please tell me why I can't slay this filthy traitor right here, right now?" The King yelled, obviously thrown off by the man's swagger.

One of the guards nervously spoke up, "Your Highness, Dean Winchester is renowned as a high member of the conspiring rebel group: The Men of Letters. We believe he holds valuable information pertaining to the location of the camps that were responsible for last winter's attacks."

Castiel shuddered in his throne. A flash of memories ran through his mind of last winter. Being scared during the attacks. Cold, alone, unsure what would happen next…but he pushed those feelings down. He couldn't think of that now. No, he wouldn't. He refused. Anger replaced them, and he directed that anger towards the traitor.

Dean scoffed, "Like I'd tell you pricks anything."

The other guard spoke up now, "We have information on you, traitor. We know you have a brother. What was it, Samuel?"

Dean's whole aura shifted. No longer confident and suave. Now he was scared, pained, mournful. It almost made Castiel sorry for him. Almost.

Chuck smirked, "Sam, huh? Oh, just imagine how defenseless little Sammy would be without his big brother Dean's protection…" his words were icy, cruel.

"You bastard!" Dean lunged, but the guards held him back.

"Ah, Ah, Ah. None of that. I believe you should just comply, Dean. That is if you want to be around to protect little Sammy."

Dean said nothing, but Chuck had him now. Nobody would hurt his brother, not if he could help it.

"I've decided," Chuck stated, "One of my strongest brigades...one of my son's brigades! Will indeed accompany you, Dean Winchester. And you will lead them to these...rebel camps we've mentioned."

Dean's face dropped; he was trying to think of a way out of this, but what could he do? How would he protect Sam if he was six-feet-under?

"This will be a true test of character, sons. Which one of you will do this honor, who will prove their worth?" Chuck asked, turning his head to look at Michael. Michael's spine straightened as if he already decided he was the worthiest for this quest. 

Castiel was so tired of being the second choice. He was tired of putting in the same work as Michael and still meaning nothing to his father. He wanted to prove himself. He wanted to do something, anything, to prove his worth. 

Without thinking, Castiel stood from his throne, "I will embark on this quest, father." He spluttered out. The words didn't feel real. The whole room turned to face him in shock. Even Dean Winchester looked a bit aghast. 

Chuck's head whipped, eyes surprised at his youngest son, "You? You want to lead your brigade to a rebel camp? "

There was no going back now. Castiel put on the most confident stance he could summon, but he still felt so, so small. As small as he felt when he sat in his throne.

"I can do this, father." He pleaded.

Chuck almost seemed to doubt his plan now. He nodded at Castiel through, "Alright then. Well. It's settled. My son, Prince Castiel, will lead his brigade on their first quest to find and extinguish the rebel camps." His eyes flickered back to Dean, "Then he return this traitor to me for execution. "

Dean looked repulsed, mad, confused, and sad all at once, "That's not what we agreed on. How while I protect Sam--" Dean said, choking up.

Chuck had no remorse in his eyes, "Be happy I'm not executing your brother too for affiliating with the likes of you, scum." Chuck said curtly, with repulsion, "Now, take this atrocity out of my sight." 

The guards dragged Dean from the room, and the audience gapped around at what had just happened.

Chuck stood, "People of the court, tonight I will host a banquet! All are welcome to this historic evening where I have planned a special announcement. This will change the course of Neveah as we know it..." 

Castiel gulped. He hadn't known about this. From the look on his brother's faces', they didn't either. He wondered what could be so special the King couldn't tell his sons the information hours before. He would soon find out.

~

Later that evening, the largest ballroom was ornately decorated in immaculate finery. Fabric swooped from the rafters to a large, diamond chandelier in the middle of the room. It made the room feel like it was suspended on clouds. Like they were in heaven. 

Castiel walked in wearing his same blue overcoat, but now he was a golden crown atop his black hair. The courtesans in the room wore beautiful silks and linens as they parted to let the youngest prince join the other royal family members through the crowd. At the moment, only Michael was at the royal table, looking perplexed as he swirled a goblet of wine. 

"Michael." Castiel greeted.

"Hello Castiel," Michael greeted his brother, sounding annoyed. 

"Is…something the matter?" Castiel asked.

"Is something the matter," Michael repeated mockingly, "Oh, I was just wondering if my younger brother is feeling up to the big quest he volunteered for this afternoon."

Castiel stopped in his tracks. What Michael was saying didn't sound like a question, rather like an accusation.

"I think I'll do just fine, thank you." He said, cautiously.

"You think, huh? Did you think about how your little adventurous whim would affect me?"

Castiel furrowed his brows, "Affect you? I volunteered for this task because I want to find the rebels. I want justice."

"Yeah, right. I think we all know what you did this for. For dad's approval." Michael spat.

Castiel was taken aback. Michael had never talked to him this way before. It sounded more like a conversation Michael would have with Lucifer or Gabriel. But no, it was different than that. With them, Michael did it out of annoyance or to put them in their place. But his words to Castiel now were...pointed. They were out of anger, out of jealousy. 

Then it dawned on him. Michael...saw him as a threat. Castiel had never been a threat to his grasp on the throne until this very moment. This event, this quest could tip things in his favor, and Michael was scared.

Castiel blinked a moment, "That's what this is about? About whether I'm trying to get dad to like me or not?" He scoffed.

Michael's eyes narrowed as if that was obvious. This made Castiel even angrier. 

"News flash, Michael: That's what I've been doing for my whole life! That's what we've all been doing! Pining for his attention!" Castiel said incredulously.

"I have the best chance, you know this. Don't try to win his favor when it's a battle you can only lose."

"If that were true, you wouldn't be so scared right now, Michael." Castiel spat.

Michael twitched in silent rage, keeping it almost entirely internal due to the eyes of the court that followed their every movement.

"Back down, Castiel. You've never lead a battalion or even been on a quest. I'm trying to save you the embarrassment." Michael said in a harsh whisper.

"Save me? Is that what you call this?" Castiel asked.

Michael took a step closer to Castiel, pointing a finger into his chest, "I've lead dozens of armies, been on hundreds of quests. I am far more qualified—"

"Then, I better catch up," Castiel said sharply; he was tired of hearing his brother belittle him. Again.

"Castiel! Do not do this." Michael said, a final plead.

"Watch me," Castiel spat as he stormed away.

He stomped over to a table where dozens of goblets were filled with sweet wine. He picked one up and drank it in one gulp. He huffed and slammed the goblet down before grasping another. 

While he had never heard his brother speak that way to him, he had also never talked to anyone that way himself. But he couldn't help it. He was filled with rage. He was so lost in a said rage that he didn't even realize he'd drank five goblets of wine. By the time the master of ceremonies announced the arrival of the King, he was buzzed. He choked mid-drink, and spun around into a bow as King Chuck was passing. He hoped he didn't notice him. Once he stood up from his bow, he felt his head swim and heat run up his whole body. He was starting to regret the alcohol he just consumed.

~

By the time dinner was beginning to be served, the alcohol made the room spin. Castiel tried to act like it didn't affect him, but he wasn't so sure his act was all that good. He sat beside Gabriel, unable to face Michael and too scared to talk to his father in this state. 

Gabriel inhaled deeply. But his face scrunched, taking in the heavy sent of Castiel. His face bloomed into a wry smile, "Oh. My. Word. Castiel!"

Castiel's face turned to his brother, red with flush before he said, "What?"

"You cheeky, drunk bastard! You smell like a saloon." He smiled even wider.

"How would you know what a saloon smells like, Gabe?"

"You'd be surprised what I get up to when you're tucked in all safe and sound at night."

Castiel raised a brow. "You what—?"

"That's beside the point. Why are you drunk? I haven't seen you this drunk since…ever?"

Castiel lowered his head, a bit ashamed, "Michael and I… we had words."

"What? Do tell, I don't think I've ever heard you two fight. You're always so pleasant to each other. It's a bit creepy if you ask me."

Castiel brushed off Gabriel's comment, "He's mad I took the rebel quest. I think he feels threatened somehow." He answered shortly.

"Threatened, huh? I wouldn't put it past him. His main personality trait is to be dad's shadow."

"He's never been…mad at me before. I'm not sure what to do." Castiel said as he slumped in his chair.

"Well, he's mad at me all the time. He'll get over it." Gabriel said, trying to be reassuring, "Then again, I'm not really a threat to the throne, so what do I know?"

"You think I'm a threat too?"

"Well, duh, Castiel. Lucifer has done enough damage today alone to be locked in the dungeon, let alone let rule the kingdom. As for me, I couldn't give two shits either way. I'm just here for the good booze and pretty courtesans," He said, giving a chuckle and wave towards a group of pretty party-goers who'd been eyeing him since he arrived, "But you? You actually put in the work. I bet if you were born before Michael, you might have father's favor. He's got years on you; experience."

Castiel couldn't believe what he was hearing. Gabriel had noticed his hard work; did that mean Chuck did too? Could he actually have a shot a winning the throne? His thoughts were scattered; he needed more clarity. 

"Do you really think…?" he started shyly.

Gabriel gave another chuckle, "Do you think I'm making this shit up? If you weren't so hard on yourself all the time, if you didn't second guess every decision you have to make, dad might actually notice you. I mean, that's what happened today, right? In the heat of the moment, you volunteered for the quest? Dad was obviously looking to Michael for a response, and you beat him to it. Dad looked at you like he had never even considered you before. This might…change things, Castiel."

Castiel was flabbergasted. Had the thing he been trying to do all along, correcting each mistake, second-guessing, fixing each imperfection…was that what was holding him back? Was the key to the crown in his confidence?

He thought long and hard about this all through dinner. Course after course was brought and taken away, but he couldn't eat much. Between the ample amount of wine and the millions of thoughts clunking around in his head, he lost his appetite. He was picking at a dinner roll when Gabriel nudged him.

"Dinner's over. Let's dance." He said with a wink.

Castiel groaned and followed him to the ballroom floor. 

Dancing was not Castiel's strong suit. Despite countless dance classes he'd been in since he was old enough to walk, dancing never felt...right. He always had to approach some girl, offer her his hand with all the charm he could levy, and hope she'd say yes. If she did say yes, he always felt…off in some way? It was awkward. Maybe he felt too tall, too seen. Perhaps he felt his hands were too sweaty on the girl's waist. Perhaps he hated how that girl's eyes felt staring back into his. He couldn't pinpoint it, but it always felt so very, very wrong. 

Dancing was the one thing he allowed to slip his 'perfect persona.' He'd whisk a girl off the sidelines, dance with her for the length of one song, making sure his father saw, and then make some reason he had to get away. Tonight was no different. He followed Gabe to the small crowd of people he'd been winking at earlier. Once he'd successfully asked one to dance, he straightened his coat and walked over.

"May…I have this dance?" He said, willing his voice not to crack. He had asked a pretty girl, with billowing chestnut waves and deep brown eyes.

"Of course, your highness," she said with a smirk.

"Great," Castiel exhaled and guided her to the floor.

They had danced for almost half the song before either said anything. Castiel still felt the effects of the alcohol as he swayed to the band's billowing music. 

He felt awkward and needed to break the silence, "So… what's your name?" he asked.

"Meg," she said.

"Lovely name," Castiel answered.

"Is it? I always hated it."

"Oh," Castiel awkwardly chuckled, "Well, I, uh, love your..dress."

"You do?" She asked incredulously. She almost laughed at the flustered prince dancing before her.

"Yes, I like that shade of purple, and it's very…shiny." 

A beat passed, and then Meg did laugh, "No offense, your majesty, but you are a complete mess."

Maybe Castiel should have taken offense to that, but he was grateful for the relief from the tension, and he too laughed. The rest of the dance went somewhat smoothly. At the end of the song, he had made a new friend. He waved and said goodbye to her as he walked off the dance floor to get a drink. In reviewing his conversation, he realized he had talked about how shiny her dress was for the better part of the conversation. He cringed at the thought. That was the price you pay after drinking five goblets of wine. He decided water was the best choice of drink for the rest of the night.

After grabbing a glass of water, he turned back to the dance floor, sipping it vaguely. He saw Gabriel spinning a blonde woman, both laughing. Michael danced too, but he didn't look nearly as happy as Gabe. His eyes were fixed on Castiel, angrily. His dance partner looked miserable. Castiel held the intense eye contact until Michael spun out of view. Castiel continued taking in the sight of the revelry, and his eyes found his oldest brother. Lucifer was dancing with one of the regular courtesans. And he looked like he was in a much better mood than he had been in earlier that day. It was nice to see him happier. Castiel gave a small smile.

He hadn't even realized the King had joined him on the edge of the dance floor.

"Only watching, Castiel?" The King asked.

Castiel jumped, nearly spilling his glass of water. He hoped he was sober enough for a conversation with the King before he said, "Father! I, uh— just got off the floor! I was dancing with—" 

"I was only teasing, Castiel. I saw you dancing with the lovely Princess Meg moments ago. She would be an excellent suitor for you and an even better alliance for Neveah…"

Castiel's blood drained from his face. Suitor? His brothers weren't even married yet! Did the King expect him to get married to a girl so soon?

Chuck clapped a hand over his son's shoulder with a chuckle, "After a proper courtship, of course. Loosen up, son. I was only bringing it up because a king is required to think of such things. He is also required to sire heirs, you know."

King? Heirs? Was his father implying what Castiel thought he was? 

"I gave this talk to Michael years ago…"

Castiel deflated a bit but tried not to show it. Somehow Michael was apart of every conversation he had with the King. It was always Michael did this one time, and I told Michael this once. 

But then Castiel remembered: He was a threat to Michael. He had a chance at the throne. If he showed Chuck he could and he had the confidence to do so.

He unclenched his fists, lowered his shoulders, and straightened his spine, "Yes, thank you, father. I'll definitely keep that in mind…" He said, clearing his throat, "I also just wanted to thank you for letting me lead the rebel quest."

"Yes, I thought it was about time you led a quest of your own," he said as if he hadn't looked to Michael to take the quest in the first place, as if this was his plan all along. 

"I won't disappoint your father," Castiel said firmly.

"I would hope not; a lot is riding on this, especially for you…" he winked.

"What does that mean—"He started.

"You're about to find out," the King said, already walking towards the platform.

The King took center stage. He raised his chin expectantly, and the room went silent. The band stopped playing, and every eye fixed upon him.

"As many of you know, in the kingdom of Neveah, the next ruler is selected by the current King. This has been royal protocol for centuries. As we reflect on our wonderful past, we must also think of the future; our kingdom's future. Meaning: I must select my successor…"

The room took a collective gasp and held it, Castiel included.

"…In my mind, I feel like I will be ready to select Neveah's next ruler by the coming Winter Solstice. I feel as if I have seen enough of each of my son's progress to make a firm judgment by said time…or at least, I will have seen enough by then." He stole a look at Castiel with this last statement. Castiel hoped Michael didn't see this.

"I will make my final announcement at our annual Yule Ball. I hope to see you all in attendance. Until then, I wish each of my sons' luck as their quest for the throne comes to its end." Chuck smiled performatively and strode out of the room in a dramatic fashion. After he was gone, the room positively erupted with chatter and murmurs. 

Castiel stood in complete shock. The crown had never been so close. The King implied that if he succeeded on this quest, he might just become King. All he had to do was complete said rebel quest.

Castiel moved to walk out of the room when Michael pushed his back, causing the still very tipsy Castiel to trip. He barely caught his balance as he whirled around to face his older brother.

"Give. Me. The. Quest." Michael growled out, "I have worked too hard for this for someone like you to take it from me."

"Someone like me? What's that mean?"

"You're weak, Castiel. You aren't qualified! I deserve the crown. Back. Off."

'No!" Castiel said fervently, taking a step towards Michael. He kept reminding himself to keep up his new-found confidence. He hoped it was working. "I'm tired of being treated like a second-rate player. I have prepared in all the ways you have. We are equals. I only lack experience because you take every opportunity that arises! I can do this quest. I've worked just as hard as you have, Michael! I can do it!"

"You'll try." Michael spat, "But you'll fail. It's inevitable. All of that could be avoided." He tried, softer now.

"Stop! Stop with the pleasantries! I'm tired of your forged kindness. Drop the facade, I might actually have a chance at the throne, and that scares you. I'm taking the quest. That's final."

"Fine, you don't want my kindness? I won't give it to you. We can be enemies if you'd rather."

"Fine!" Castiel shouted.

"Fine!" Michael screamed back and promptly spun around and left.

Castiel felt angry now. Even more enraged than he had earlier. He needed to get out of that room. He B-lined to the large doors when something caught in the corner of his eye. A man in chains. A prisoner. No, his prisoner: Dean Winchester. He was in a tented corner of the impossibly large ballroom where the jester usually entertained courtesans. Tonight though, the entertainment was a game called 'pelting the prisoner.' 

King Chuck would often bring in the most disrespectful prisoners for this form of punishment. It was an embarrassing display, more of a test of pride. Strangers would come to pelt the prisoner with tomatoes and other rotten fruit. 

Castiel hated this punishment. He would pity the poor person who must endure such a thing, even if they were as excessively arrogant as Dean Winchester was that afternoon. He would usually avoid the booth at all costs, but tonight was different. He was angry, and above all things, he wanted to make sure the quest went smoothly now that the crown hangs in the balance. 

Something about Dean Winchester made Castiel feel very uneasy, and that could not happen.

Castiel turned on the balls of his feet in Dean's direction and stormed over to the booth. Two guards stood in front of the tented corner's entry, their long, pointed staffs clenched in their fists.

"I've come to talk to the prisoner about the procedure for the quest," Castiel said.

"Of course, your Majesty." And they moved from the entry of the tent

It smelled of rotten tomatoes. It was almost too much to bear. But Castiel's anger determined him to proceed.

"You come to throw fruit at me, too?" The husk voice of Dean spat, sounding raspy with exhaustion. 

He looked even more bruised and battered than he had earlier at the hearing. He was chained in three places: two cuffs on his wrists and one clasp around his neck. These kept him on his knees, in a position that looked remarkably close to a bow—another one of Chuck's ways of exalting his power to make his prisoners feel small.

Castiel eyed the basket of rotten tomatoes before returning his glance to the man on his knees.

"No, actually," He strode closer to the man in chains, "I've come to get one thing straight with you: I will not tolerate any foul play on this quest of ours," Castiel said, trying to sound menacing.

Dean scoffed, "I'm not scared of some pompous little prince."

Castiel flinched. He had been talked down to by Michael too many times tonight. He wouldn't take that from some prisoner.

He took a few more steps toward Dean, grabbed the chain that attached to his neck, wrapped it around his knuckles, and pulled, hard. Dean fell forward, catching the weight of his body on his hands.

Castiel got down on one knee so that he was at Dean's eye level. Maybe the alcohol made him cockier, more arrogant, but something in him made him say, "Let me make one thing perfectly clear to you: I will not take shit from you. And if you can't keep your mouth shut, I'll have you gagged, got it?"

Their faces were close, too close. Castiel could smell Dean, even through the foul stench of rotten fruit. He could feel the heat of Dean's breath.

"Is that a promise?" Dean spat back. 

Something in Dean's voice caused Castiel to reel backward, nearly falling in the process, rattled. He turned his back to the man, feeling heat rush up his neck, up to his ears. Castiel presumed this was anger rushing through him.

"We leave at dawn." He said briskly and sharply.

And with that, he exited. Before leaving the ballroom, though, he told the guards, "Please bathe that man before the quest tomorrow. He smells like death."

One of the guards chuckled, "Yes, your highness."

Castiel nodded curtly and walked to the doors. Once past the threshold, he broke into a sprint. He didn't stop until he made to the large, open field he had been training at with Balthazar hours earlier. That morning felt like it was a million miles away. He was out of breath and still flushed. So much had happened since he'd held his sword that morning. So much was on the line.

And maybe it was his father's news and him accepting the quest, perhaps it was the five goblets of wine he consumed, or maybe it was Dean Winchester and his arrogance, but something in Castiel made him heave over and promptly vomit.


	2. Chapter 2

"I feel like death warmed over," Castiel groaned into his large fluffy pillows. It was an hour before dawn; he'd requested to be woken up early on the day of the quest. However, he was starting to regret that request now that his head felt like it would never stop throbbing.

"That's what happens when you drink five goblets of wine! Really your highness, what were you thinking?" Hannah, Castiel's chambermaid, said as she flitted about the room. She was a pretty middle-aged woman with wrinkles around her mouth and eyes from smiling too much. She had bright blue eyes and brown hair that reminded him of imported chocolates.

"That's the problem, Hannah. I wasn't thinking at all. I was just...angry at Michael." Castiel said, grimacing as he remembered last night's events.

"Oh? You two get into a bit of a tiff?" Hannah questioned.

"Unfortunately, yes. Something like that," Castiel sighed, "He wasn't happy I'm the one who took the quest." He told her vaguely. He must always talk vaguely of his problems. It was improper to talk to servants about any private matter, like fights, about the royal family. But Castiel trusted Hannah. Even if he could never fully open up to people, he could at least somewhat open up to her. It was mutual respect between the two. 

But because he was always vague with his problems, she must be vague with her advice.

"Well, no matter. It's your quest now. Don't waste another thought on your brother. You have to think of the quest now. From what I hear, It could cost you the crown..." Hannah said.

"It could." Castiel said lowly, the weight of the day falling on his already pained head.

~

The thought of eating made Castiel nauseous. But after arguing with Hannah on the importance of breakfast, he agreed to eat some buttered toast.

Hannah had taken the liberty of packing his wardrobe for him in a large satchel. Quests could take anywhere from a few weeks to many months. Castiel hoped to be back within a few weeks, but that all depended on Dean Winchester's cooperation. 

Castiel added a few papers to his pack before he strode out of his room, not knowing when he'd return to it. 

He had requested a final meeting with his father before he left, and Chuck had made it into a family ordeal, ordering all his sons to attend to wish Castiel luck on his first quest. 

Castiel walked slowly toward the throne room, taking in the grand corridor he knew so well. He eyed the art on the wall. He had studied nearly every single painting in this section of the palace.

'Some more than others,' he thought to himself as he rounded the corner, where he knew his favorite painting would be.

A large canvas depicting a great battle hung upon the wall, set within an intricately detailed gold frame, taking up most of the wall. It was unapologetically gory, swords clashing, ruthless killings riddling nearly every square inch. It dripped with stereotypical masculinity. This painting is what he told his history tutor was his favorite.

But that was a lie.

His favorite painting was actually beside it, vastly smaller in size and not very noticeable beside the other, until you look at it longer. An artist called Caravaggio had painted it. It featured a guardian angel with black wings. He was draped in white robes, cradling an unconscious man, watching over him in a garden. Castiel knew it like the back of his hand. He studied this one often. 

This one was his favorite.

He wasn't quite sure why he couldn't just say this one was his favorite. There was nothing inherently scandalous about this painting—just an angel watching over a man.  
But something about it seemed so...intimate. The way the angel held the man's face, it was such a comfortable placement, like he'd done it a hundred times before. He'd never seen a man do that to another man in real life, but in this painting, it was so natural. He wondered what that was like.

His thoughts were interrupted when a guard came through a set of double-doors, "Oh, Prince Castiel! There you are. Your family is ready in the throne room. If you're ready, I can announce your arrival?"

Castiel ruffled a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the thoughts he'd just gotten lost in. 

"Uh, yes. Yes, I'm ready. Let's go."

~

The guard took Castiel to the throne room, where the king and his brothers sat in their thrones.

"Prince Castiel Novak!" The guard boomed.

Castiel walked carefully down the velvet walkway and stopped a few feet before his family's thrones, centered with his father, who stared down at him. Beside him on the left, Gabriel looked like he'd barely made it out of his bed but gave him a reassuring thumbs-up. On his right, Lucifer looked bored out of his mind, whereas Michael looked like he might burst out in rage. He kept careful eye contact on Castiel so trained that it might burn if you looked at him directly too long. 

It was weird to see the room from this point of view. The pedestal the thrones sat on seemed far away; it felt like they were in a completely different space than Castiel was. Even Castiel's empty throne, which seemed so small to him most of the time, looked massive now. It loomed above him like a beacon of self-doubt.

Castiel swallowed hard, "My King, Father, Brothers. I'm here today on the cusp of my first quest. I hope to return to you within a fortnight, with the location of the rebel camps. Of course, I will have to obtain the exact location from the rebel, Dean Winchester, so my quest may take longer than that."

"Don't be afraid to take the information from him, son, whatever means necessary. You saw how easily he folded yesterday at the mere mention of his brother. " Chuck seemed to remember fondly.

"Yes, I'll...keep that in mind, father. However, from investigations of the past, I've found some locations that could possibly be viable for rebel camp use. Here is the initial route I'm taking, if I may?" Castiel asked, pulling out a marked map of Nevaeh he drew up last night before promptly falling asleep in his drunken haze.

"Yes, yes, let me see," Chuck said, ushering a guard to get the map and bring it to him. As he opened it, each of his brothers leaned in to get a peek.

"This route may be treacherous, but if you're sure you and your brigade can handle it?" Chuck asked.

"I'm sure," Castiel affirmed.

"Then we wish you luck, son," Chuck said, standing to bid his son farewell. The other three princes stood too.

Castiel bowed his head and placed a fist over his heart, "Thank you, I won't let you down. Goodbye, father, brothers." 

Castiel rose to his full height and nodded. Taking one more glance at his family, he turned on his heel, heading for the door to find his brigade.

~

Between the stables and training field stood the seven men that made up Castiel's small brigade. They looked fresh-faced and young; because they were. Many of them were Castiel's age or younger and had the same experience that Castiel had with quests: none. They wore royal guard uniforms and weary expressions.

"Good morning, men!" Castiel said, with faux bravado.

The men in question gave him grim greetings in return.

"This is our first quest together out of many! Let's keep a positive attitude as we take down these rebels together." Castiel shouted with all the reassurance he could gather. The brigade stared, doubtful.

"Wow! What a convincing pep talk, your highness, very inspiring." a voice said sarcastically from behind Castiel.

Castiel's head whirled. The owner of the voice was none other than the rebel himself: Dean Winchester. He was being escorted by two guards who promptly pushed him for his cocky comment.

Castiel's eyes narrowed at the man, "Ill advise you not to speak out of turn, rebel." 

Dean said nothing more but smirked at the prince. 

Castiel turned back to his troops as a carriage was brought around the dusty path towards them.

"Well, men, it seems that the carriage containing our supplies is here. Which leaves nothing left to do but start on our journey," he smiled.

The carriage lurched to a stop, and Castiel motioned for the guards to escort Dean inside.

"Let's begin, shall we?" Castiel smirked.

~

The troops stood in two lines of three behind the carriage, the seventh soldier taking over as the carriage driver.

Castiel opened the door to the carriage but paused to look back at the palace one more time. He smiled slightly before clenching his fists, determined. He ducked his head to set squarely across from his prisoner, ready to begin his quest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay, we're finally going to start on the quest next chapter! which means we get to learn more about dean!
> 
> i hope you enjoyed this chapter! please leave any comments, questions, or critiques down below! i love to hear from you guys.
> 
> also, I made a tumblr ( @whilendpoet ) for all updates on this story and future stories. I also post original artwork for my fics there, as well as sneak peeks, and lots of other little tid-bits! :)
> 
> -M


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel swung himself onto the open bench of the carriage and shut his eyes tight.

'Is this really happening?' he thought. Was he actually on his first quest?

He breathed in sharply through his nose and ran his hands through his black hair, trying to shake off any initial nerves.

"Are done being a nervous wreck? If not, please do take your time." Dean Winchester said sarcastically. He sat squarely across from Castiel, wrists shackled.

"Shit," Castiel jumped; he'd almost forgotten about the criminal he'd requested to be put inside the coach.

Dean raised an eyebrow, probably amused by the prince's anxious nature.

Castiel cleared his throat, trying to regain composure. He couldn't act foolishly now, "Ahem- I asked you into my coach because we need to discuss locations. You are the key to this quest. From reports, you are a high-ranking officer in your group...what was it the...letter's something..?" 

"It's the Men of Letters," Dean said incredulously.

"Right, the Men of Letters. Quite the operation you have, I must say. I've never seen a more ruthlessly violent group of vigilantes--"

"Violent? All we want is peace! If you want to find violence, look no farther than your own father--"

"I'd advise you to stop speaking ill of your King, rebel. I believe that's in your best interest."

"He is not my King! And can you cut all this-- this formality bullshit? No one our age talks like that! I mean, I'm twenty. You can't be older than I am--"

"I'm nineteen, and formalities will keep this quest running as smoothly as possible. And please, mind your tongue--"

"'Mind my tongue?' Do you even hear yourself?" Dean asked as if he couldn't believe he'd just said that.

Castiel was quick to cut him off, "Like I was saying! I know you're a high ranking officer in the 'Men of Letters,' so I know you're aware of all camp locations. "

"What makes you think I'd tell you anything?"Dean said.

Castiel closed his eyes in frustration. He remembered back to yesterday when his father threatened Dean's life as bait for cooperation. 

No, he wouldn't do that. He remembered the sheer look of terror and pain on Dean's face. He couldn't do that. It wasn't right.

Maybe a different tactic then? Perhaps he could level with him? Drop the 'formality bullshit' as Dean said.

"Listen, Rebel--," Castiel caught himself, "Dean," he said, using the criminal's name for the first time. Dean looked at Castiel now, surprised at the sudden sign of decency.

"I'm trying here. I know my father is...hard to deal with. How he treated you yesterday...it wasn't right. And I'm sorry. " Castiel said, trying to convey kindness, "I know you just want to protect your little brother...Sam, right?"

Dean looked away at the mention of Sam, falling back into the plush seating of the coach. Castiel treaded cautiously with his next words, "What I'm trying to say is I know you want to be...around for him. And my father has made it clear that he wants you...gone after the quest is through..." 

Dean shrank further into his seat if that was possible. 

"But if you cooperate, if you guide me to the camps, I promise you I will change that. I can probably get your sentence to a decade or two of jail time, rather than a noose around your neck. And I can see that Sammy is financially provided for." Castiel said

Dean's head shot up at the last statement, "You mean you'll get him whatever he needs...even if it's like, school..." 

"Of course," Castiel said, trying to suppress a small smile. It was sweet. The gruff man cascaded in black before he was a sentimental mess when it came to his brother. 

Dean looked like he was seriously considering it before shaking his head. "I shouldn't...I-I can't. There are so many lives connected to the Men of Letters. I can't put those lives at risk. 

"Dean, including you and I, there's less than ten people on this quest. We couldn't possibly take prisoners across the countryside. We are simply scouting locations. Once we return, my father will deal out punishment as needed. You and any other leaders will get the severest punishments, and as it trickles down the hierarchy, the punishment will lessen. Most people will more than likely get a... a slap on the wrist as opposed to a severe sentence of any kind. Believe it or not, my father is not a cruel man."

"Are we talking about the same guy?"

Castiel huffed, "Please, Dean, I'm trying here."

Dean pondered it, "I'm the only leader...any severe punishment you speak of...should fall to me," He met eyes with Castiel, and with the most sincere look possible, asked, " And you promise you'll take care of Sammy?"

Castiel thought there could be no way that Dean could be the sole leader of such a large organization, that he must be protecting others. If he could just get close enough to the camp, he could see the truth of the leadership. He only needed Dean's trust to get there.

"I promise to protect and support your brother...if you agree to lead me toward the camps."

Dean thought another long moment. He sat straight up, and Castiel mirrored him. He lifted a shackled wrist between the two of them and raised a pinky.

"Pinky swear?"

Castiel barked out a laugh at the child-like gesture.

"Pinky swear?" He asked.

"Isn't that the...fancy way of making a promise? That's what they said around the village as a kid."

Castiel fell into a bout of laughter. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed like that.

When he'd regained control, Dean still sat, pinky up, expectant.

"I pinky promise," Castiel said warmly and wrapped his pinky around Dean's.

There it was again: that...warmth. Castiel had felt it once the night before when he had first talked to Dean at the banquet. What was it? Was he coming down with something?

Just then, the coach shifted from a dirt path to what felt like a cobbled street. Castiel broke away his pinky to move to the window. 

"Ugh, Wichita," Dean said.

"What's wrong with Wichita?" Castiel asked, "It's a lovely village."

"Exactly. What's wrong with it? It's virtually perfect." Dean's vividly green eyes washed over Wichita's streets.

"So it's too perfect for you..?" Castiel scoffed. 

"That's not it. It's too perfect for this kingdom. Nowhere else in Navaeh looks like this. This is a primped and preened facade. Wichita lives in a cloud above the rest. Unaware that every other village is barely getting by." Dean rolled his eyes.

Castiel didn't understand. Yes, Wichita had been the only village he'd ever been allowed to go to because it was so close to the castle, but Dean had to be exaggerating.

"You must be mistaken. Maybe by comparison to smaller villages, Wichita seems to be what you see as perfect. But you must remember that it's the largest village--"

"No," Dean interrupted, "Respectfully, your highness, you're wrong. Wichita is a ploy by your father to show diplomats a fruitful kingdom. He's showing them Wichita to save face and pacify them. It's close enough to the palace to see, so heaven forbid it to look anything less than perfect. While villages just as large a few days' ride from here go hungry because of his taxes and his rule."

"You sound like a conspirator," Castiel started.

"Do I, your highness? Please, enlighten me, when was the last time you had to tell your little brother he wouldn't get to eat dinner because you couldn't afford it? When was the last time you worked your ass off for a loaf of bread? When was the last time you worked at all?" 

The coach went quiet, both boiling over in rage.

The two men stared at each other with silent ferocity. Neither of them liked to feel undermined, and both were too stubborn to submit.

Both broke away to look out the window as the coach trotted on.

"I'll need a location, rebel. We're nearing the outskirts of Wichita, and I need to tell my men where we're going next."

Dean sighed, "Lawrence, your highness." He said, a sickly sweet tone hanging on his last words. Usually, when people addressed Castiel as such, it was a sign of respect. But when Dean said it, it felt like an insult.

He let out a huff before turning to the front wall of the coach, sliding a small window open, and telling the driver, "Head to Lawrence."

"Yes, Prince Castiel." The coachman replied.

And so, the brigade, the prince, and the rebel set their sights on Lawrence, utterly unaware of the eyes which followed them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like you can really tell my fav troupe is enemies to lovers after reading this chapter oop. :0
> 
> hope you enjoyed. xx
> 
> also, I made a tumblr ( @whilendpoet ) for all updates on this story and future stories. I also post original artwork for my fics there, as well as sneak peeks, and lots of other little tid-bits! :)
> 
> -M

**Author's Note:**

> hello folks! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! this is only my second time writing fanfiction ( first chapter series:0 ), so I hope it was alright! If you have constuctive critisism or any other notes, please do comment below!
> 
> also, I made a tumblr ( @whilendpoet ) for all updates on this story and future stories. I also post original artwork for my fics there, as well as sneak peeks, and lots of other little tid-bits! :)
> 
> anyways, I plan to update this story weekly or bi-weekly (I am a full-time college student and also work so pls be patient with me)
> 
> thanks for reading!
> 
> -M


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